


Build Them Up (I'll Tear Them Down)

by mizzsy



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Fluff, Isolation, M/M, You're getting friends whether you like it or not Host
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2020-04-12
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:13:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23616571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mizzsy/pseuds/mizzsy
Summary: It’s far too easy to lock yourself away, but so many ways to come out again. Or, how a house full of assholes plus one flirty doctor manged to open up Host’s icy heart
Relationships: Doctor Iplier/The Host, Mark Fischbach/Mark Fischbach
Comments: 16
Kudos: 83





	Build Them Up (I'll Tear Them Down)

It wasn’t a conscious decision that The Host had made; truth be told he was quite shocked himself when an evening of his usual melancholy introspection led to the realisation of just how alone he had become during his short time in the manor.

There had always been an excuse for it-a hundred little issues one after another until it had seemed rather justifiable to isolate himself from the manor’s other occupants completely.

Bim was too arrogant. The Googles too aloof. Bing was too loud and King too quiet. Edgar and Silver were idiots, the Jims already in their own world, and Dark and Wilford-

Well, The Host felt no one could question his distance when it came to the heads of the house.

It was simply easier to remain polite, quiet and removed in this assault of loud, loud people. A blanket civility with none of the effort or risk of digging beneath the surface was all The Host needed. Egos-people- were a complicated maze to navigate after all, and there was little reward at the end of it, The Host preferred his own company anyway.

Quiet was his calm, his paradise, and his armour. Quiet filled his days so that memories of previous embarrassments which came from being with others began to fade among his insular life. Quiet was easier to block all the bad out with. Not that he could blame the other egos for past sins stained with blood, or that the wet smell of it followed him in every moment. That, in his better moments at least, he took responsibility for himself. But there were no explanations to be made when he removed curious faces from the equation- when he cooly placed them behind the walls his life has become.

Some in the household, however, were too persistent for that.

“Oh, Hosty!”

Even a dark kitchen at 4am wasn’t safe as Bim strutted in, smile sharp and hands carelessly dripping red. His suit, however, remained miraculously stain free. The Host made no reply, allowing the mumbling stream from his mouth to block out Bim better than quiet would- there wasn’t a silence that Bim Trimmer couldn’t overflow with himself.

“Should have figured you to be a night owl; it goes with your whole horror shtick you’ve got going on.” The show host chattered, sliding cheerfully into the chair opposite The Host. His smile was an ever bright, handsome,and aggravating feature on his face as he turned it to The Host. “Come to think of it, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you out in the day.”

“The Host prefers quiet-something the egos lack.” His acidic words, striking out from his quieter monologue, seemed to bounce off Trimmer.

“Can’t blame you for that. I’m almost glad for the nightmares, or else I’d never get any quiet time around here.”

That brought The Host up short- enough that his narrations shuddered into silence for a moment.

“Bim Trimmer has nightmares often?”

The show host shrugged easily.

“Comes with the cannibal gig. I’d be more worried if it didn’t leave a few marks on the old psyche.” Bim’s smile never faltered, so at ease with letting The Host view a personal side of him, when his casual honesty so thoroughly disarmed the blind man.

“That is…unfortunate.” The Host struggled to fill the quiet with some expected words.

“Nothing I’m ashamed about.” Bim sighed, eyes floating elsewhere in thought, “Well, good night Host.”

And he was gone, leaving a far more noticeable silence than before, and The Host was left with nothing to ponder but the little bit of trust he had just been offered.

*

“Hello sunshine.” Doctor Iplier greeted him with a shiteating grin that compensated for The Host’s blindness by filling the room with the stench of the doctor’s familiar smugness. “And how are you on this beautiful day?”

“Dark and hopeless as always.” The Host replied, weighing down the determined uptick of his mouth as he easily negotiated his way to the doctor’s table in the dark. Seeing by a supernatural sight was quite exhausting, so The Host rested it when he could.

“This is what I love about our little chats Host- your indefatigable optimism.”

The Host turned to hop up just short of the table, head cocked in the direction of Iplier’s voice with a stony face set in challenge.

“Let’s just get this over with.”

Iplier’s footsteps were slow and deliberate as he followed over to The Host, coming down in a sound designed to be a saunter. His warmth came into range, bleeding from him like a lightbulb burning too brightly, and his smile as audible as ever.

“My pleasure.”

*

The studio was surprisingly quiet compared to the workspaces of the other egos in entertainment- Though there were few things that could contend with the brutal scream of contestants from some of the shows for noise. In contrast, The Host’s cramped, one man sound booth was tranquil for most hours of the day, void of even his narrations as he waited alone for the red light to glow. Then only stories, set free lovingly into the world, broke the cocoon of The Host’s sanctuary.

“Hello to all of you listening somewhere tonight,.” The Host spoke, leaning close enough to his old mic so every echo of his breath would reverberate across the waves, “Would you like to hear a story?”

Words made up The Host’s world-it was a private joy to spend hours sharing them with the faceless audience of unseen and unheard souls out there, weaving the images of impossible worlds that grew in his head every day and bringing strangers into them. The words poured out, easier than any conversation he had had in the manor, a sonorous flow bringing life into an empty time of night. Far too soon, the sun rose outside the walls of the studio and The Host fell silent again with blood crusting over his cheeks and the power of his Sight leaving his body pleasantly tired,

It was The Host’s personal brand of peace to listen to the quiet again after his broadcasts, and he savoured the few seconds before the outside world stole it away.

Today, however, the sound of loud, mistimed clapping took it early.

“Amazing Story-Jim!”

“As completely wonderfully, incredibly good as ever Blind-Jim!”

The Host sighed, steeling himself for his unexpected visitors, before turning his bloody wrappings on the twins.

“The Jims should not disturb The Host while he works!” He said, words already heavier in his mouth compared to the natural ease of storytelling.

“Oh no, we didn’t want to interrupt”

“We just wanted to listen!”

“All sneaky and very Jim!”

“An up and close experience for our viewers!”

“Of everyone’s favourite Host!”

The familiar back and forth of The Twins, as always, began to merge into one singular voice of Jim, and could go on for hours if not controlled.

“The Host does not appreciate being brought into The Jims usual mockery,” the narrator spoke over them, “It is time for The Jims to leave.”

A dual, offended gasp filled the studio.

“No, no, no! We weren’t mocking!” “As fellow Jims, we do endorse a little Jimness.” “Mostly on Medic Jim or Bad Jim.” “But never you!” “We love your stories too much!” “We stay up and listen every night!”

Once again, The Jim stream picked up pace, and this time could not be stopped as The Host was forced to listen to their outpouring of praise for The Host’s work- his original ideas, use of vocabulistics, and perfect dramatic timing that had robbed The Twins of a good nights sleep many times before. 

And The Host listened- dismissively at first, still sure it was an elaborate prank, yet the sincere joy and detail of The Jim’s love began to sink through, alighting the pride The Host took in his work until it glowed with a small but warm joy.

It felt nice, compared to the cold.

“Enough.” The Host cut in, just as The Jim’s began to recount their fifth favourite story of The Host’s, “The Host believes you simply wanted to listen, but The Host cannot be distracted during his-”

Even with his sight exhausted, the drop of Jim energy was felt in the room, and The Host needed the barest hint of power to see how far their expressions had fallen.

…Oh, and he knew he would regret this.

“However, if The Jims promise absolute silence during the broadcast, perhaps they can stay in the studio once a week for a special story.” The Host said slowly, forcing himself to make the offer aloud.

Like a switch, the Jim’s came back to full power again, moving around The Host with a flurry of thanks and promises to be the most Jim that a Jim had ever Jimmed, before finally making their goodbyes to share the ‘breaking news’ with the other egos.

The Host sighed, chastising himself for the moment of weakness even as he planned the best places to seat the Jim’s during their visits or if they might need a silent distraction in case their attention wandered.

It was good to get feedback as a creator, he decided as he left the studio for the day, and perhaps it would be nice for the faceless strangers listening to talk back for once.

*

Sometimes, Doctor Iplier would come to find The Host himself.

The Doctor usually had some new excuse every time-boredom, worry, or simply a need to make sure The Host had his daily recommended intake of annoying medic.

“You wound me.” Iplier laughed at The Host’s assessment, slipping into one of the chairs scattered around the library and settling himself comfortably.

“The Host would wound the persistent Doctor if the others did not need his services so much.” The narrator countered easily, fingers still running along the bumps of the page in front of him as he spoke.

“Don’t pretend you don’t need me too,” Iplier replied, “who else would keep your grumpy ass company?”

“The Host definitely does not need company.”

“And yet, here I am.”

“Here you are.” The Host murmured, pausing from his reading for just a moment to listen to the even breaths of Edward before returning to the story.

“So, what’s this I hear about your new live audience?”

The Host chuckled despite himself, abandoning his reading to turn his attention fully on the listening Doctor.

“Well, The Host had two visitors to his studio this week…”

*

While the library did not “technically” belong to The Host alone, it was rare for any of the other manor inhabitants to ever spend their time among the impossible number of shelves. With many of the egos having more exuberant, easily distracted personalities, it had been easy for the quiet narrator to claim the dim space as his own- moving the furniture as he liked, greedily hoarding all the texts that pleased him, and occasionally letting his narrations expand the dimensions of the room until it suited his exact requirements. Surrounded by the scent of old paper, ink, and a distant forest, The Host felt the world come to a stable normality again as he retreated to the corners of the library. Where the day drained him until his mind drifted and narrations took all the energy from his body, the library restored him again.

So whilst the space had become The Host’s in every way that mattered, the sound of another person walking lost amongst his new layout was no reason to be angered.

And yet.

“Does Google require something?”

The Host’s Sight reached out in time to catch the Android’s startled expression, blue flooding his face for a moment before turning to The Host. Behind his back, he held the book he had been reading fervently just moments before, as though that could hide it from the Sight of The Host.

“No, I am quite capable of finding my way without your help. Thank you.” the android replied in his deliberate, monotone voice even as his fingers fidgeted on the volume in his hands.

In The Host’s mind the title of the book whispered its name in golden lights, pausing his escape to a quieter part of the library.

“The Caves of Steel?” He asked involuntarily, knowing the marks and bends of the book in Google’s hand even without his Sight.

Google stiffened.

“I am merely-” he stuttered, “It is just research. On human ideas towards androids.”

“Issac Asimov’s first novel on robots.” The Host replied, a hundred other facts of the story surging to the surface, read over and over again and still returned to as an old friend. “The Host would think Google would dislike Asimov’s ideas, especially the Three Laws of Robotics.”

Google chuckled, the flat and artificial noise that he rarely let out ringing in the large empty space.

“I did not say they were correct ideas, but I do enjoy the blurring of human and-”

The Android cut himself off abruptly,hum of all his systems heightening as his hands gripped even tighter on the book. 

“Google clamps down on his unacceptable words- to imply he would waste time on human creations for something as futile as ‘enjoyment’, even for a story that lit up The Android as much as this did”

His Sight ran loose now, delving deeper than fleeting impressions and flashes of the world around him and pulling out Google’s inner being into a string of story in The Host’s mind. He quickly caught it’s thread and pulled, never wanting to invade others like Author did until the power came back under his control, and The Host could see only Google’s studied blank face again.

“It is…The Host’s favourite tale as well.” The seer admitted quietly, “Should Google like to talk about it-”

“I should go.” The Android said in a rush, backing away towards the door, pausing just as he stood over the threshold, “But…thank you.”

The heavy thud of the doors closing echoed around the library as The Host closed off his Sight again, the sanctuary his once more. The scent of paper and ink strong, the muted sound of The Host’s footsteps uninterrupted by any others, and books all his.

He had a whole shelf of Asimov’s works somewhere near the stairs didn’t he? A whole new world beyond the Caves of Steel Elijah and R.Daneel were trapped in. Perhaps he would leave them out, in case the android came visiting again. 

The Host switched his path, treading through familiar routes as his body came to life again.

*

Something was very, very wrong.

Edward was quiet-no not quiet, the Doctor had been silent since The Host had sat on his table and he set to work. Had it not been for the calluses of Iplier’s hands brushing against The Host’s face with familiar grooves and bumps, The Host would have doubted it was the same doctor treating him now who took such great delight in dancing around The Host with words and teases whenever he was near.

Ad Edward withdrew, bandages tied and barely a murmur of “finished”, The Host couldn’t take anymore, and his hand reached out to the doctor’s retreating form.

“Is Doctor Iplier ok?” Blurted out, the normal elocution of The Host’s words running together that it took Edward a moment to reply.

“M’fine Host, I’m just tired.” His low voice replied, weighted with weariness as he danced out The Host’s reach again.

“Doctor Iplier finds energy to tease The Host even when he has had a 12 hour shift at the clinic, and yet today has been quiet.” The Host said, standing up to follow.

“Ah, I knew you secretly loved our little chats Host.” Edward shot back with his still listless voice.

“Doctor,” The Host said, hand finally making contact with the doctor’s shoulder and voice firm, “Tell me.”

And that was all it took- any mental planning or scripts The Host would usually create for when he was around others meant nothing compared to a few sentences rushed out in under a minute, and he found himself on the couch with Edward Iplier laying on his shoulder, the story of the patient he just couldn’t save flowing out of him and taking up hours before either man noticed.

“Nothing could have been done. I could have gone back a hundred times and not been able to save her. You see cases like it everyday.” He mumbled into The Host’s trenchcoat, voice hoarse but still forming words as The Host listened, “And I’ve seen so many doctors- good doctors- have the one they can’t move past. The last one that sends them through the doors and never lets them step foot in a hospital again.”

The Host stayed quiet,letting Edward breathe through his next words as the seer let his thumb absently stroke over Edward’s wild hair.

“I don’t want this to be mine.” He said, even more quietly than before that even The Host struggled to pick up the words from where they were lost into his shoulder.

And the pair sat longer in the quiet, waiting for the evening of Iplier’s shaking breaths to let Host know it was his time to speak.

“The Host cannot help Doctor Iplier in his decision- and it is still his, or Iplier would not still consider wanting to stay helping all the patients he does.” He spoke slowly, voice exhaling over Edward’s cheek, “And while The Host would be saddened to lose the services of his doctor, he knows that Edward would still find reason to pester The Host whenever he can.”

Beneath his head Edward chuckled, shifting to sit up and turn his face towards The Host.

“Every single day.” He promised, smile close enough for The Host to feel, “Who else would drag a smirk onto that grumpy face of yours?”

“Certainly Doctor Iplier is the only one stubborn enough to try.”

“My favourite part of the day.” The Doctor said, body still pressed close to The Host’s and unapologetic in its warmth, “Thank you, Host.”

The quiet gratitude snuck under The Host’s skin- a prideful pleasure that it was him who had brought the Doctor’s playful tone back, him whose company had been enjoyed, and that it was Edward sitting so close to him in this moment, more calming than any lonesome corner The Host had found before.

“Doctor Iplier is most welcome.”

*

“A-aitch…eh. No, wait. Huh-eh?Suh, tuh… St-ah…”

The voice-stopping and starting and becoming increasingly frustrated- reached The Host’s ears as he wandered through the manor’s common areas. The afternoon had been uneventful for a manor with 13 exuberant occupants, and after hours of careful story crafting, The Host had decided to risk the halls in search of tea. He hadn’t expected to find King curled away in a corner of the den, mumbling out the same sounds over the rustle of glossy paper pages.

“Nuh? Muh? No it’s…fuck fuck fuck.”

The rustling turned to a whip of cutting air, and The Host stepped back just in time for the flimsy book to fly past his face and hit the wall behind him.

“Host! Sorry, sorry! I just-”

“Books should be treated with care” The Host cut over King’s frantic words as he scrambled to his feet, bending down and feeling his way to the tossed book, “what was King of the Squirrels reading?”

His fingers brushed over his target, feeling out the large square shape of it and the thin amount of contents, only to have it ripped out of his hands by a huffing King.

“Don’t make fun of me.” He snapped, taking a few steps back.

“The Host meant no such thing,” he replied calmly, thrown by the normally carefree ego’s abruptness, “The Host was only curious as to what offense the book had caused King of the Squirrels. Was the story aggravating in some way?”

“I wouldn’t know,” King said, voice heightening as he spoke, “I can’t get past the first damn page of it! I keep looking and looking at all these stupid lines and trying to make the sounds work and none of them make sense!” He threw the book down again, shouting his final words, “I’m too stupid for a goddamn kids book and I hate it!”

King’s heavy, deliberate breaths echoed through the cramped room, growing more watery with each one meant to calm him. And Host waited.

He did not need to get involved. King simply needed to be left alone, to be allowed to ignore the embarrassing encounter and solve the problem in his own time, without any help.

But absolutely no part of Host would let him turn and leave King alone right now.

“When The Host first went blind,” he began, voice slipping into the calm and soothing tones of his narrating voice, “he had to learn to read all over again.”

King’s breathing hitched, the near panting pausing as he stopped to listen.

“He knew all the words and sounds and sentences already, but now he had to learn their shapes in a new way. Now he had to translate the feel of dots under his fingertips to language all over again. And he couldn’t. All he could focus on as he ran over the pages was that he wanted to read and couldn’t. He couldn’t focus on the shapes on the page when all that filled his mind was his own inability.”

The Host walked slowly to King, picking up the book once more and sifting through the pages with his sight.

“King of the Squirrels is certainly not stupid, nor is he a child. If The Host is to help King with his new skill, they will need something of more interest to King himself. Perhaps there is something in the library.”

He turned away again, trenchcoat flaring behind him as he made his way to the door, King’s feet rushing behind him.

“Wait,wait- you’ll help me?”

Host turned his head, unable to look himself but letting King see the smirk growing on his face.

“The Host has some tricks that may be of use to King of the Squirrels, and if nothing else, it always helps to have someone to share the story with.”

It never occured to Host, as he browsed the endless shelves of his library for short books on wildlife, or used his power to raise the letters so King to trace them out as he read, or patiently helped him sound out all the variations of the letters until they had finished the first few pages, that his spur of the moment promise to King had locked him into hours of time with the man. His shortening alone time, already eaten away by work and the Jims and Edward, would be stolen away sat next to King, attention dragged away by facts he knew related to the book or a beautiful plant growing in the corner of the library rather than the planned lesson.

Yet as King stuttered through his first sentence unaided, a 10 word line on the diet of red squirrels, Host couldn’t care less for time he could spend by himself. At this moment, nothing else could be more important than the growing grin warming King’s face.

*

“How does Doctor Iplier do it?”

Edward had been busy with paperwork when Host came into his office, but happily led Host to the couch to wait as he finished- chatting idly with the seer in between the stream of visitors and colleagues that appeared in the office. And for once, The Host used his Sight in the Doctor’s office, just to enjoy the little details that other senses couldn’t quite provide-the shuttering glow of light through the window blinds, the matching fade of colours in the couch he sat on, and the gentle glow the afternoon filled the white room with.

And perhaps most distractingly, Edward’s focussed expression as he effortlessly switched between the murky depths of medical reports and easy conversing with whoever came to his desk with questions, problems, or a simple need to spend time around the man.

“Do what Host?” He asked, eyes once more drifting from his papers to give The Host his full attention, the rare sight of Edward’s warm brown eyes in Host’s mind throwing him for a moment before he remembered his point.

“Be a friend to everyone.”

Edward laughed, paperwork truly forgotten as he pushed his chair back and came over to The Host with a smile that no other sense could really capture.

“Am I now? Think your Sight might be a little bit off there.”

Host huffed as Edward sat next to him, still maintaining his Sight even as the man came close enough for The Host to pick up every little movement.

“The Host does not need his Sight. He knows how a room fills with laughter and conversation when Doctor Iplier is in it. How much more comfortable it is than when The-” He cut himself off, “All The Host wants to know is how.”

Beside him Edward hummed softly, eyes searching over Host’s without shame as he pondered his answer.

“I like talking to people.” he said simply, “You of all people know I can’t shut up, so I talk about anything that comes to my head- manor gossip, some documentary I watched last night, ways to shut up an anti-vaxxer. And some people like that- they want to talk as much as I do, or like to listen to someone talk nonsense and just listen to another human being awhile.”

“The Host can’t do that,” the seer said, the rush of words more desperate than he intended or expected, “The Host’s words are precious and few- he can’t make enough noise for others to like him as they do Doctor Iplier.”

“So what?” Edward cut in suddenly, voice firmer as he leaned closer to The Host, hand warm on his shoulder, “Don’t assume for a second that I’m what you need to be to make friends with others.”

“The Host doesn’t need friends-”

“Some people,” Edward went on, “can’t stand an idiot blabbering on about nothing. Some people want to be around someone who can talk about the interesting and strange. Or share something personal with them. Or just to be with them quietly, where everything else is too loud.”

Edward’s hand traced it’s way down The Host’s arm, slowly, warm and reverberating all the way to The Host’s thundering chest before hovering over his hand.

“I know what I prefer.” He whispered, face too close that The Host’s sight began to blur.

“Hey Doc you’re not gonna-Oh S***, sorry dude!”

Edward’s face retreated far enough for The Host to See the pinching of his eyebrows, carefully ironed out before turning round to address Bing.

“It’s fine Bing. What do you need?”

“Well, crazy story, but you know how Dark said how I was banned from the roof now?”

Slowly, Host’s Sight began to retreat to where it slept inside him, the edges of the world falling back to darkness until even the white of Iplier’s back began to fade out, turning at just the last moment for The Host to glimpse his small smile.

“I gotta go Host. But while we’re talking about assumptions, maybe you should think on your own for a while.”

“Such as?”

The blinding smile stretched out through the encroaching dark.

“Maybe you don’t have to be alone.”

*

Being sick, The Host decided, goddamn sucked.

The dryness he had ignored in his throat last night had transformed into a scratching and swollen mess that barely let him speak, and a heated burning under his skin that left his skin sticky with sweat and restlessness in his bones. He ached- in his throat and his head and every muscle around his body, complaining of the quiet but persistent discomfort that would not let him push through the wretched heaviness weighing him down.

Leaving his messy cocoon in bed was not an option. Even as his stomach protested at yet another woe being inflicted on his body, there was nothing The Host could do with his flu-ridden body for it to make the arduous journey downstairs for breakfast. All he could do was wait and hope Edward noticed he had missed his afternoon appointment and eventually come to check on him. So Host stayed wallowing in his misery, listening to the sound of the manors occupants passing and unable to call out with his scratching throat, and torturing himself with the smell of toasting bread and bacon that eventually wafted up to his room once the egos decided to start without him.

He would try to sleep again he decided as he twisted into his sheets further, to pass the time before Edward came in the least uncomfortable way. He pushed down into the softness of his mattress, shifting once more before settling into his new curled position,and slowly tried to replace the circling list of complaints in his body with one of the pleasanter stories he had been working on-of a two King’s falling in love among secret identities and usurpers- until the details began to blur and jump together, and dreamless sleep overtook him.

And when he awoke, the heat of the day was less harsh against Host’s skin, and the headache seemed to have calmed itself. His throat, however, was still burning from dryness. He reached out to his side table, hoping the half empty glass of water he had left earlier would be enough to help, only to find his fingers brushing against a cool jug where the glass had been, and a piece of paper beneath,

Edward must have come by already, The Host thought as he pulled the paper towards him, surprised to find the raised dots of messy braille printed upon it, his hands already reading their way across the words.

_  
Hi Hostie!_

_We missed you at breakfast! Came to check on you but you look like you need the rest, so the others said it was best I just leave you alone. Fought Ed to save you the last of the bacon for when you’re awake-you’re welcome- and the others got some treats for you too._

_The Old Doctor will be along soon-I’m sure he can help you feel much better_

_Warfstache_

Dark must have helped him with the braille, Host mused as he ran his fingers along the signature again, he was the only other ego who knew it. Risking the return of the headache, he let his Sight flash over the bedside table for a moment- enough to see it covered with Warfstache’s promised goodies; there was two full jugs of water with ice to keep them cool, some fruits and tylenol alongside them, as well as the cooling remains of breakfast. Yet the others had apparently decided that was insufficient- Host recognised Silver’s brownie bites cooling in the centre of the table, a copy of The Naked Sun in braille, a simple ‘Get well’ in King’s newly developed handwriting, a hastily scribbled promise from the Jim’s to oversee Host’s show tonight and a addition beneath from Bim that he would oversee the Jim’s. There was something from each of the manor’s egos- from a little token to things that would have taken time and effort for them to create-for Host.

_They noticed,_ he thought to himself as his hands felt out each thing in turn, the shape of them filling something within him until it overflowed and he choked on each word of his thoughts, _They missed him enough to notice._

“Host?”

The sound of the door creaking open was muted as The Host still looked over the gifts on his table, caught in the rabbit hole of his thoughts until the bed next to him dipped, and Edward’s hand pressed to his face, gently turning him to Edward’s gaze.

“You look like shit.” He said, “The others said you were sick so I figured you needed a visit from your favourite-”

“Edward.”

Edward’s fingers froze in their mapping of Host’s face, still just below the line of his bandages where blood began to pool over them, able to feel the tight crumpling of the muscle beneath as Host began to sob.

“Host, what’s wrong? What can I do?” His voice became frantic as his hands moved to cup Host’s face instead, shifting closer until The Host could feel the warmth from his body, his hands, and always his welcoming eyes, even when Host couldn’t see them.

God, how did Host ever think he could live without them in his life?

“Host?”

“The Host does not want to be alone anymore.” rushed out of him like the inevitable wave behind the dam, hands coming to meet Edward’s and clutching to them desperately, “The Host does not want to be alone and silent and cold without anyone at all. The Host wants to- he wants to-”

“Then don’t.” Edward rushed out, “Host, look at today-at the past few weeks. How you’ve had the Jim’s hanging off your every word, or Bim bugging you for your late night chats. Jesus, you’ve even got Google trying to get your time so you can talk about your weird science books or whatever.” He paused, perfectly silent for a moment, “Look at me, and what an idiot I am whenever you’re in the room.”

Host didn’t dare speak-not even his narrations could overpower his anxious waiting for Edward’s next words.

“We’re all idiots,” he finally continued, “remember how I lectured you about assumptions? I guess we all made plenty of our own. About how to show you that the manor cares about you-all of us. I know I thought I was being obvious, with all my talk and jokes, and all this time you thought-” Edward’s forehead leaned against The Host’s, voice softening with each word, “but I can do better than that, Host, I know I can, and I’ll keep loving you quietly enough for you to hear it.”

Host, being a storyteller, knew the only correct response as all the overflow of emotion in his body surged up through the kiss he pressed to Edward’s waiting lips. Edward moved with him, eager and alive as his hand cradled Host like he was precious and his fractured breathing and racing heart merged with Host’s own.

_Love_ ,The Host thought as he pressed as close as he could to the sparks of contact Edward’s body gave out, the doctor responding in kind, _this is what love I was hiding from._ It was exciting and soothing and so very, very warm now it had found him anyway.

Hiding away was overrated, he decided as Edward’s hands began to wander, he’d let all of the walls come crashing down in an explosion of noise, and he would greet the outside with a smile again.

**Author's Note:**

> I love writing the Jims, so much.
> 
> Like this? Please consider leaving a comment, or follow me on tumblr at adequately-fed-artist to request a fic, or support me on Ko-fi: https://ko-fi.com/mizzsy


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